


Put The Past Behind You

by ChibiTabatha



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Clones, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Swap, No one actually dies!, Stanuary, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 19:42:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13508460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiTabatha/pseuds/ChibiTabatha
Summary: Stanley's funeral, his own funeral. The start of the last, long con.





	Put The Past Behind You

**Author's Note:**

> At first I wanted to do something light and fluffy... Now we have angst. Oops, my hand slipped.

“Stanford, my baby!” his mother fell into his arms, and he held her to his chest. How many years had it been since he last hugged his mother? How many years since the smell of her cheap floral shampoo made his nose itch?   
  
“Hey Ma,” his voice sounded nothing like he was used to. An old twin trick he and his brother used to use to trick the teachers. No effort was needed to be sad, he was miserable. His brother was who knows where. It should have been him who got sucked into that portal.  
  
“Oh my poor babies. My poor free-spirit Stanley,” his mother clung to him like a life preserver. Gently placing a gloved hand on her shoulder he squeezed reassuringly.  
  
“Stanford,” his father's gruff voice drew his attention away from the woman tucked against him.  
  
“Father,” he nodded towards the man who left him out on the street with nothing but the skin on his back and a tank full of gas.  
  
“Never expected him to go out that way,” his father nodded towards the closed casket.  
  
__ The creepy photocopier whirred to life. The odd glow illuminating everything in the room. Eerie shadows dancing in every corner, under every object. The paper shifted, wavered, a hand pulled up from the sheet resting on the floor.  
  
His mother finally pulled away from him and moved towards the casket. The dumb thing was open, and his mother reached in to touch the face of her deceased son. “They said foul play was suspected. Have the investigations team reached out to you yet?” he stood tall next to his father. He had to be Stanford, not Stanley. He was sure his brother would be this indifferent.  
  
__ It was weird staring into his own face. Honesty he was just trying to make a Thanksgiving flyer for the Murder Hut. He wanted a real ‘Hand Turkey’. What better way to do it than photocopy your hand and add clipped turkey picture parts to it. Instead the hand pulled up from the paper and he flipped.  
  
“Yes. I haven't spoken to that knucklehead since he ruined your future. Your mother kept in touch with him. Can’t understand why she'd want to keep in touch with a criminal.”  
  
__ He and the paper clone circled each other. Eyed one another. Sized themselves up. “Look, I know this sounds weird. But we gotta die to help save Ford,” he reached out to touch the clones shoulder.  
  
__ It was oddly solid under his palm, “I know.”  
  
His father’s uncaring and indifferent demeanor shouldn't have startled him, but it did. “They also contacted me. I actually needed Stanley to do something for me. Before he passed,” and the way his voice paused, they way his tone dipped, those weren't lies even if the words were.  
  
__ The car was bought dirt cheap. Looked just like the Stanley Mobile, but less worn out. They worked together to change the license plates, to hack through the brake line.  
  
“Your mother told me as much,” Filbrick clapped him on his back. “Let's go pay our respects.  
  
Following Filbrick towards the casket, each step felt heavy and slow. Gazing down into the casket was jarring. There he was, looking so peaceful. Like he might get up and greet him with a sleepy smile, rubbing his eyes with a six-fingered hand…  
  
No. This wasn’t Ford. This was a clone of himself he killed to put Stanley Pines behind himself. To escape all the bad things and focus his life and time into getting the real Stanford Pines back.  
  
__ They raced, of course they did. Who wouldn’t want to race in the middle of the night with no breaks? Maybe it would make the inevitable easier. The turns were easy at first, but then they got sharper. The roads curving sharply, the guard rails with warnings becoming more frequent. The car beside him couldn’t cut it, it couldn’t make the turn. Screaming tires, the crunch of metal on metal, the shuddering sound of the machine crashing into the trees.  
  
He excused himself, looking at him, in the coffin. It was too much. Ford could be dead, and it was all his fault.  
  
__ The smoking wreckage, was awful. Burning rubber, burnt metal, something else was burning too and it was not pleasant. Calling out his own name was weird, but he never got a response. The wail of sirens could be heard in the distance. Time to go.  
  
“I’m sorry you had to see that, my poor baby boy,” small hands on his arm drew his attention from inside his head.  
  
“I just… I can’t believe he’s gone,” he turned to his mother and held her tight. His emotions from losing his brother twice now just overflowing.  
  
“Me either, but Stanley’s here. With us. As long as we keep him here he’ll never leave us,” her small hand pressed against his heart.  
  
Holding her smaller hand against his heart he nodded sadly, “I’ll keep him here. Forever.” For as long as he has to be Stanford, he will hold him in his heart until the day it stops beating. “Thank you Ma,” he pressed a soft kiss to her temple like Ford used to do. The six-fingered gloves felt heavier suddenly, but this was the weight he had to bear. The one last con. One he wasn’t sure how long he’d have to run.


End file.
